A Man and His Dragons
by crematosis
Summary: Steve just seems to attract trouble. But two tiny dragons might be more trouble than he can handle. If only Tony and Bucky would get along.


A/N: Loosely inspired by the post about the coin dragon I saw on Tumblr.

Steve smiled to himself as he put the finishing touches on the new sign for Blackwater's town inn. The proprietress was going to be pleased with his work.

She had graciously offered him lodging for the night in exchange for his work, but Steve would have wanted to help regardless. She was an old woman, trying her best to keep the inn up with the help of her three grown daughters after her husband and only son had been killed by bandits.

Steve knew how hard life could be for a widowed woman. His mother had raised him on her own for twelve years, barely scraping by enough to keep the two of them alive. He was happy to help the old woman and her family as he had wished others had done for his mother.

He set the sign in front of the inn and stepped back to look at it. The red wyvern with its wings outstretched, was bold and bright. Steve wasn't one to brag about his skills, but the inn would certainly attract more business now than it had with the old and crumbling sign.

He dusted himself off and went inside to inform the innkeeper that his work was done.

"Looks beautiful, young man," the old woman said, surveying the sign with a bright smile. "You've been such a help today."

"No trouble at all, ma'am," Steve said. "Happy to help."

"You must be hungry after all that hard work. Why don't you head to the market and get yourself a treat? I hear there are several new merchants in town this week." The woman pressed two copper coins into his palm.

"I can't take this," Steve said. "You're already letting me stay the night."

"Nonsense. A growing boy like you needs all the nourishment he can get his hands on. I remember when my Alistair was a young one," the woman said, dabbing at her eyes. "Children grow up so fast."

Steve tried to force a grateful smile on his face. It rankled to still be treated like a child at the age of twenty-seven, but he had unfortunately looked like a starving twelve year old for most of his adult life.

"I'll be back shortly," he told her.

As nice as it would be to have a little extra money to set aside to buy a little dried meat or fruit for the next day's travel, Steve didn't like the idea of accepting money from a poor old woman. He resolved instead to buy a little something for the inn.

He took the long way to the market, giving himself time to think of what to get for the inn. Some wine? No, too expensive. A candlestick perhaps? The warm glow of a candle in the window would certainly be tempting for a weary traveler. Or maybe-

A sudden shriek startled Steve out of his thoughts. He looked around wildly. Somehow he had strayed far from the bright, open town square. All he could see here were cramped, filthy alleyways and crumbling hovels.

He peered down the closest alley. Next to a pile of rubbish, a group of six youths had gathered to poke at some kind of small, dark animal with sticks.

Steve's lip curled in distaste. He hated when people were cruel to animals. Not even the vermin deserved to be taunted.

"Back off! This is mine," someone shouted and Steve glimpsed the underside of crimson wings.

A dragon? The boys were harassing a dragon?

He was halfway down the alley before he registered his feet moving. "Hey!" he shouted. "Leave him alone."

Five of the boys took a step away from the dragon, looking furtive and guilty as they put their sticks behind their backs. Only one boy, a tall youth just on the cusp of adulthood, stayed firmly planted in front of the dragon. He was probably the leader of the little group of ruffians.

"Leave the dragon alone," Steve repeated, putting as much authority in his voice as he could. He was sadly a few inches shorter than the boy, even though he was at least ten years older.

"Why?" The boy jabbed his stick in the dragon's direction, laughing as the poor creature snarled and tightened his grip on the golden pendant. "Just look at him, trying to be tough."

"Not trying to be tough," the dragon growled. "Just trying to keep my treasure out of your grubby little hands." He flared his wings and bared his teeth. "This is mine. It was given to me by my sire and I will not allow filthy little thieves to take it."

The display wasn't terribly threatening. The dragon was about the size of a rat with a wingspan only as wide as Steve's hand. But Steve still admired his spirit.

"Only cowards would target something so much smaller than them," Steve said scornfully. "Why don't you pick on someone your own size?"

"Like you?" the boy said with a raised eyebrow.

Steve balled his hands into fists. "Sure," he said. "I'm not a coward."

The boy gestured to the others. "If he wants a fight, let's give it to him."

Warily, Steve eyed the group. Six against one was far from a fair fight, even for a man of normal size. Steve didn't have a chance if they all ganged up on him.

The moment his eyes were off the leader, the boy struck him across the face with the stick. Steve hissed and punched the boy in the chest. The boy punched right back, harder than Steve expected. He staggered backwards a step and then all the other boys were on him, punching, kicking and biting him wherever they could. Steve found himself pushed to the ground. He curled in on himself as much as he could, protecting his face as the boys mercilessly kicked at him.

"Enough," the leader said finally. "I think he's learned his lesson. And so has this little pipsqueak."

The little dragon let out an indignant squawk as he was dropkicked into the trash pile.

The boy knelt down and scooped up the pendant from the ground."Let's see how much this thing is worth." He whistled to himself as he walked out of the alley.

Steve squeezed his eyes shut. Goddamnit. Beaten by a group of boys. Well, it wasn't the most humiliating thing that had ever happened to him.

He felt tiny pinpricks work their way up his chest. When he opened his eyes, the little dragon was perched on his clavicle, staring at him with wide, silver eyes.

"Hey, human, are you okay?" the dragon asked. He tapped a talon against Steve's jaw. "You look like you got the shit kicked out of you."

Steve groaned. "Pretty much."

"You didn't have to step in, you know," the dragon said with a huff. "I may be little, but I can take care of myself."

"I'm sure you can," Steve said. "But I can't stand bullies. I saw those kids messing with you and I had to do something."

"Fat lot of good it did," the dragon muttered. "You got yourself beaten up and those assholes still stole my pendant."

Steve sat up gingerly, cupping one hand under the dragon's tiny body. "I'm sorry about your pendant. I know it meant a lot to you."

The dragon curled two tiny claws around Steve's wrist and looked up at him with an incredulous expression. "Why do you care about my stupid pendant? You don't even know me."

"No, I don't. But that doesn't mean I can't care. Those kids stole a piece of gold jewelry from you. And I know dragons cherish gold. It had to have been important and I'm sorry it was taken from you."

The dragon snorted out a puff of smoke. "You're the strangest human I've ever met."

"I get that a lot," Steve said ruefully. "Nice to meet you. I'm Steve Rogers. How should I call you?"

"Bucky," the dragon said.

"Oh," Steve said. "That's a-"

"Yeah, I know. Not a typical name for a dragon." Bucky said with a snort. "I'm a meadowflint. We're a small breed, sure, but normally the size of a cat. I'm very small for my kind." He hunched his shoulders. "I wanted a good, strong name like my brothers Malachite and Obsidian. But on my naming day, I was called Bucky because all the other dragons in my nest said I was as weak as a newborn foal."

"That's terrible," Steve said.

"It's true," Bucky said with a sigh. "You saw how that jerk punted me into the garbage." He shook himself. "Fucking disgusting. I need a good wash."

"My god, where are my manners?" Steve said. "I didn't even ask if you were alright."

He didn't know much about dragon physiology. From what he could tell, Bucky was putting equal weight on all four claws and his wings seemed unbent. But who knew how Bucky was doing under those dark silver scales. Did dragons bruise?

"I'm fine," Bucky said with a little flare of his wings. "Nothing hurt but my pride."

"Glad to hear it," Steve said. He picked a tiny bit of refuse off the ridged spines down Bucky's back. "I can take you back to the inn with me and see if I can get a bath drawn for both of us."

"Spare me your pity," Bucky said. "I know I'm tiny and pathetic, but I can take care of myself. I've been doing so for seventy years now."

Steve raised an eyebrow. "You're a domesticated breed. You shouldn't have to be scrounging around for food. You should be happily curled up at some noble's feet, eating choice bits of meat from a fancy bowl."

"Pah," Bucky said. "The breeders couldn't find anyone willing to purchase me. I was too small, too sickly, too foul-tempered to be a lap pet. Even carrying my sire's prize pendant, no human wanted me."

"If I was a noble, I would have taken you," Steve said.

"No, you wouldn't," Bucky scoffed. "I'm a terrible investment."

"I don't care about that," Steve said. "I don't want a pet. I just want some company."

"From a dragon?"

"Why not?" Steve said. "You seem friendly enough."

Bucky gave him a sidelong look. "Humans usually prefer the company of other humans."

"Eh, humans are overrated," Steve said. "I'm small for my kind, too."

"Ah," Bucky said. "Not the first time you've been beat up down a dark alley."

"Nope," Steve said. "And it probably won't be my last. I'm a pretty easy target for thieves." He patted his side where his money pouch was tied. "At least they didn't bother to rob me this time."

Not that there was much to steal. Most days, Steve barely had enough coins scraped together to afford a loaf of bread.

"You know," he said thoughtfully, "I can never hope to replace your pendant, but if you'd like to travel with me, I'd let you keep track of my money like it was your hoard."

Bucky brightened. "Really?"

Steve opened his purse and let the little dragon peer inside. "It's usually not much, but it's better than nothing, right?"

"You're an artsy type, aren't you?" Bucky said with a sigh.

Steve blinked. "How did you know?"

"These hands," Bucky said, wrapping his tail around Steve's wrist. "Long, slender fingers. Soft palms. And this little fleck of red paint on your knuckle."

Steve rubbed the back of his hands. "You're right," he said. "I'm an artist. It's not much of a living, but it's about the only thing I'm good at. I'm too small for manual labor and I get sick too frequently to hold down a job as a shop boy. I just travel from town to town, selling paintings and doing whatever odd jobs I can find."

"Sounds lonely," Bucky said.

"I could sure use some company," Steve agreed.

Bucky crawled into the bag and settled in among the coins. "Yeah, this'll do for now. But we really need to work on making some more money."


End file.
